


Champagne Glasses and Late Morning Sunshine

by meshkol (ashernorton)



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, American Politics, Character Study, Communication, Domestic Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eugene Strange's A+ Parenting, Healthy IronStrange Relationship, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Medical Jargon, Medical Procedures, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Protective Stephen Strange, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:53:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24090871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashernorton/pseuds/meshkol
Summary: The diff is almost standard really, though tricky and time-consuming: thirty-eight-year-old male, penetrating head injury from skull fragments after blunt force trauma to the parietal lobe, significant fragmentation.  Considering the lawyers, Stephen’s guessing it’s some important rich boy who needs the best of the best to make sure there’s no brain damage or permanent disfigurement, and that’s a shot of satisfaction to his pride, even though this head is likely so below him it’s almost pathetic.He doesn't expect the head to be Tony Stark, though, nor does he expect what blooms after.
Relationships: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Comments: 27
Kudos: 393
Collections: Marvel Trumps Hate 2019





	Champagne Glasses and Late Morning Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ruquas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruquas/gifts).



> This fic is the fill for one of my charity auctions for [Marvel Trumps Hate](https://www.marveltrumpshate.com/), which was bid on by Ruquas ([ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruquas/profile) and [tumblr](https://ruquas.tumblr.com/)). Thank you so very much for your generous donation to charity, and I really do hope that this fic is somewhat satisfying, or at least not complete garbage – it utterly refused to be written in any other way. <3 
> 
> In any case, please enjoy, and mind the tags as there is heavy content in this fic.

“Doctor Strange, report to TR4 immediately.”

Stephen drops his fork and immediately heads out from the breakroom without bothering to clean up after himself – there are people to do that for him and he has a life to save after all, which is much more important than properly disposing of his half-finished dinner. Knowing the orderlies on shift this evening, it won’t last an hour anyway, being out on a table for grabs. Mark in particular likes when he brings in curried chicken, even though the rest of the floor tends to cry foul because of the smell.

Usually it’s Christine who meets him halfway to theatre, maybe a few residents or students if he’s particularly lucky (he does like showing off), but this time it’s Christine, a few residents and students, McMaster (a useless excuse for an orthopaedic surgeon in Stephen’s opinion), _and_ the real kickers: two board members, the hospital’s PR rep, and what looks like _three_ fucking lawyers.

“I don’t have time for this,” Stephen says, pushing through the crowd and trying to focus even as the hoard behind him spins on their heels so they can follow him to his destination. However, despite the fact that he doesn’t have a lot of time for vitriol with a head on the table, just being in the presence of probable lawyers makes Stephen say out loud to the posse behind him, “I swear to God, this better not be a fucking basement admission or a goldbrick. Not breaking my record just because a hot-shot lawyer says jump.”

Christine is the one who pipes up, voice slightly clipped from both the language in front of their bosses and the speed in which they’re headed to the trauma ward – not that it matters, because Stephen’s tenured and the best of the best. “Neither. You’ll like this one, actually. Now will you shut up for a second?”

Stephen smirks with a lazy hand wave, and then the next few minutes is the delicious volley of information in the usual fast-paced jargon that’s probably confusing both the ego boost units and the lawyers. He’ll have to see the actual CT scans to get a good picture of what’s going on in the head, and _fuck_ he wishes that they’d develop an MRI that could scan in minutes rather than twelve-hours-past-forever tech they have now, but ultimately he’s not worried about his record. In fact, the diff almost standard really, child’s play for a world-renowned neurosurgeon like himself though it is tricky of course: thirty-eight-year-old male, penetrating head injury from skull fragments after blunt force trauma to the parietal lobe, significant fragmentation. Problematic and time-consuming, sure, and considering the lawyers, he’s guessing it’s some important rich boy who needs the best of the best to make sure there’s no brain damage or permanent disfigurement, and that’s a shot of satisfaction to his pride, even though this head is likely so below him it’s almost pathetic. He’s not wrong either, though instead of the Senator or hotshot actor who’d bashed his brain in during a flashy car accident, he finds out that he’s operating on someone else entirely, and admittedly speaking, it _does_ change the game a hell of a lot.

Tony Stark has one of the brightest minds in the literal world and a good majority of the medical equipment that Stephen works with via robotics is engineered by Stark Industries – it would be a monumental disaster if anyone was to fuck up _that_ brain.

Yeah, Stephen’s the best in the world and he knows it, but as he dances with his assistant and soaps up, he can’t help the flutter of nerves deep in his stomach.

It’s very odd to walk into a theatre where dozens of people are either watching in the observation room or are actively in the OR, all while an intubated and unconscious Stark lies on his table. Stephen’s done similar things before, but Stark is the first high-profile celebrity of this magnitude he’s ever done intensive brain surgery on. Small little things, sure, but not precise and finicky work like this, and even so, _no one_ as well-known as Stark, not even close, and certainly not for such a large audience. Still, Stephen’s used to the pressure, thrives under it even, and he zones out until there’s nothing but the removal of hair and skin and bone, forceps and sutures along grey and red matter, blood being mopped up methodically by techs and nurses as he works, for once not bullshitting or snarking with all of the people in the room because he’s fully aware that Stark’s lawyers will eat even him alive if he so much as twitches wrong.

That said, he does hear the murmurs of the assistants and nurses on the floor, quiet so the lawyers and board members don’t overhear the gossip and slap a lawsuit on them. He tries to ignore it, focussing on this very expensive and very important brain he’s operating on, but it isn’t exactly easy to not listen in when it includes things like _multiple surgeries after this one_ and _looks like someone took a baseball bat to him_ and _his fiancée is actually complaining about the blood on her clothes in the waiting room, can you even believe that?_

It’s not really a thing people hear about strong, larger-than-life men – particularly when their partners are dainty, feminine heiresses with modelling contracts and a financial empire – but, if the gossip has even a gram of truth in it, Stephen can’t really say that he’s surprised that it’s escalated to blunt force trauma. He remembers being four or five and begging his mom to ‘ _leave Daddy, why won’t you just run away with us when he hurts you_?’ and not understanding why she never did, not even with Eugene Strange had started hitting Stephen himself, and eventually Donna and Victor too.

Stephen’s a neurosurgeon, not a psychologist – he doesn’t truly understand why that cycle never breaks, why people like his mother and (allegedly) Tony Stark himself don’t leave, but ultimately it doesn’t matter. For all he knows, the nurses are just blowing hot air out of their mouths and completely misconstruing the situation, and even if Stark _is_ being knocked around, it’s not really Stephen’s problem. Stark’s just a head on his table, a job to do with his usual expert precision, and once he’s in the clear, he’ll never see the guy again. And good riddance, if he’s honest – he positively hates being stared at by lawyers while he’s in theatre, especially _this_ man’s lawyers, and there’s no way that Stark goes anywhere without one hovering over his shoulder, considering the amount of money he’s worth.

He likes having money and a job, after all.

* * *

Generally speaking, Stephen doesn’t do bed calls or therapeutic monitoring.

His time is valuable when he’s on-call, and he doesn’t have the time (or patience, really) to skip into every one of his patient’s rooms after a successful surgery, soaking in the gratitude and praise from his patients or their families. Contrary to popular belief, he doesn’t give a single fuck about the patients personally, only caring about maintaining his perfect record, receiving accolades from the medical community, and the personal satisfaction that he’s saved another life – even though having a head successfully walk out of the front door is a great thing for his pride and morality, he doesn’t particularly want to deal with emotional patients or family members who want to shake hands and cry all over him. It’s good enough knowing that he’s done the seemingly impossible and saved another life that no one thought could be saved.

Still, it comes with the territory that the suits want him to dance like he’s a marionette on a string when big names ask for it, and unfortunately, this particular situation seems to be all sorts of fucked up. Not because of Stark, either – before he even gets on the floor of the recovery ward, Nancy is already filling him in on the diff for the fiancée: rabbit with an extreme case of BMW, OPD, and Chronic Slapping Deficiency, allegedly has MGM syndrome, and is definitely BVA and a PITA, resulting in all staff needing trans-occipital implants stat.

In other words, apparently she’s a piece of work.

Stephen tries to not let her words fester in his head, even when other nurses working recovery join them in the lift with the usual cup of coffee and start chiming in with equal annoyance, mostly because he doesn’t like coming to conclusions with third-party information. He’s definitely guilty of having his own biases, sure, but there’s no point in walking in Stark’s room with preconceived notions, especially since there are lawyers involved. Stephen can play the game as well as anyone else in the medical field, putting on a mask of charm and friendliness to patients and family members alike if he absolutely needs to, but he also knows that he can have a positively misanthropic bedside manner if he’s irritated or angry. The last thing he needs is to walk into that private room with an attitude, being the surgeon who’d perfectly succeeded with Stark’s surgery or not – Stark and his people, fiancée included, could completely ruin him in about half a second flat if they chose to. He needs to be on his best behaviour for his own career’s sake, and if the fiancée turns out to be the piece of work the nurses say she is, then he needs to do his best to keep his temper and get the fuck out of Dodge as soon as possible.

Which is easier said than done, he realises about two minutes after being in the room.

On paper, he supposes that Giuletta Nefaria is solid, asking the right amount and types of questions while fawning over her fiancé and thanking Stephen profusely for his successful surgery on Stark’s brain, all but buttering him up, but to Stephen, it practically drips with farce. Maybe it’s because he has a lot of experience wining and dining with the rich and famous, or maybe it’s because he has first-hand knowledge of what abusers look and act like, but she’s obviously putting on one hell of an act. It’s vaguely alarming, actually, that she seems so blasé about Stark – who’s laying on his bed with his right arm in a cast and his ribs taped up and a significant amount of surgical incisions hidden by gauze, clearly in pain and barely interacting with anyone outside of a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, letting Nefaria do all the talking – and he kind of wants to turn on his heel to leave. He doesn’t know either one of them except from the gossip columns that his staff like to mock in theatre, doesn’t know Stark in the slightest except that he builds medical equipment that Stephen uses daily amongst other things, but all he can see is himself, young and terrified while laying in his own hospital bed because he’d _known_ that if he’d told the doctors about what was happening, it would’ve made everything worse. His piece of shit father wouldn’t have gone to jail, and he would’ve taken out his frustrations not only on Stephen, but particularly his mom and sister in revenge.

Nefaria, beautiful and elegant and completely disingenuous, tells him charmingly, “Tony’s so very busy with work and he doesn’t like me down there interrupting, but I’ll keep a close eye on my darling fiancé to make sure he’s not endangering himself in his workshop as much as I can. I was so scared for him, Doctor, and I’m thankful you were able to help him, since his brain is so very important for his work.”

Stephen knows he has to play the game, knows he needs to keep his wits about him so he doesn’t lose everything, but he still sees red as he hears himself say fairly evenly, “I’m just doing my job, ma’am. Now, can I please get a clear room so I can do an inspection of the head sutures and a neurological exam?”

“Oh, is that really necessary?” she says, the very picture of innocently concerned, blue-grey eyes glancing at Stark before focussing once again on Stephen. “The neurologist has done all of that with me in the room, as I’m his medical proxy, and I don’t want to leave him alone right now.”

“I’m afraid I must insist,” Stephen says, channelling every bit of soothing charm in his voice he can muster right now. “For a true measure on how he’s functioning, I’m going to need him completely separated from anything that might distract him, and considering how lovely you are, I can’t imagine he’ll be able to focus on anything besides how much he loves you, which will certainly interfere with any results I might get.”

She seems mollified, at least, smiling at him with those perfect teeth, and she walks over to Stark, pressing a kiss against his temple with a quiet, “I’ll be right back, darling. You be good for the nice doctor.”

Stark doesn’t even flinch, even smiling back, and this time it reaches his eyes. “Got it babe,” he says, voice clear and not slurring, which is promising. Stephen trusts the efficiency of the neurologist on Stark’s case – Daniel McManus is the best in New York (and probably the most talented neurologist Stephen’s ever taken to bed as well) and he’d been brought on board by loan from Mount Sinai – so he doesn’t expect that his own exam will be any different than Daniel’s, but still, it’s good to see that Stark’s aware and actively engaged despite the pain he’s in.

When the room clears, Stephen pointedly doesn’t look at the crowd outside the glass wall of Stark’s suite as he pressed the button to engage the blinds, giving them total privacy. He’s probably going to get an earful from the suits when Nefaria complains, but Stephen’s more than allowed to do a neurological exam like this so it’s not like he’s breaking any rules. Fuck knows patients tend to lie and obscure the truth when they’re surrounded by family out of embarrassment, pride, or shame, so it’s always better to do brain function examinations with a clear room.

The first thing Stephen says once he’s done engaging the blinds is say, “Your pain levels seem to be high, and from what I can see, you’re not on any medication to manage that. I noticed in your chart that you have a history of dependence, but there are non-narcotic options we can provide you with as needed that won’t interfere with any of your recent surgeries or the recovery period.”

“Eh, it’s fine,” Stark says, whisky-brown eyes watching him like a hawk as Stephen reads his monitors and then sits down at the nearby computer to open Stark’s electronic file. “I’m not really comfortable with a lot of drugs, narcotics or otherwise. Don’t need the reminder, y’know?”

“Indeed,” Stephen hums, wondering how much of that is true and how much of it is self-preservation. Pain-free means looser lips, after all, and if Stark’s been clean for as long as he says he has, any pain medication will likely hit him hard, notwithstanding the possibility that Stark might be a chatty addict in addition to that. He reads the conglomeration of surgeries that Stark’s just had, and then glances through the overall medical history – varied and alarmingly going back to his prepubescent years, though it’s obvious through the gaps that he’s likely receiving private medical care from hired professionals under NDA when he hasn’t needed extreme medical care from actual medical facilities – before he says, “I’m going to run you through the standard exam that you had with Doctor McManus earlier, and it should go relatively quick considering he doesn’t seem to have any notes indicating potential issues, though it is possible since he didn’t remove any external stimuli.”

“Yeah, sure,” Stark says. “I feel fine other than the pain. Still seem to be firing on all cylinders.”

Even though Stephen knows he shouldn’t say it, that he’s just asking for a lawsuit, he hears himself drawl through a haze of red, “And the hundreds of millions if not billions of people who depend on your life-saving medical tech are glad to hear that your... _unfortunate_ workplace accident didn’t leave you braindead.”

There’s a beat of utter silence save the monitors beeping away, Stephen mentally berating himself even as he tries to maintain professional disinterest in his body language, and then with a ridiculously obvious attempt at nonchalance despite the underlying current of tension in his tone, Stark says, “Well, working with weapons is generally dangerous work, especially when you’re on a science bender and haven’t slept in two days. Explosions are kind of par for the course, really.”

Stephen closes his eyes so he can roll them behind his eyelids and fights the urge to reply, instead closing out of Stark’s chart and standing. He advances on Stark and, without a response, starts running through the exam, testing Stark’s mental status and responses with questions, directions, and tasks. He’s pleased by the results, Stark clearly all there and operating normally despite the pain, and turns back to the computer to start logging his notes once he’s done. They’re both quiet as Stephen types and Stephen tells himself over and over again to just let it go, but all he can think about is his own past and the millions of patients that depend on Stark’s company to give them reasonably priced and effective medical equipment or pharmaceuticals, because he’s personally convinced that if Stark was to die, his successor as CEO would not be as philanthropic and damn-near socialist with their products.

He stands for a final time and walks toward the button to retract the blinds, inviting Stark’s fiancée and the suits to re-join them, but his hand hovers over it with hesitation. His heart is pounding, so hard that it’s almost deafening in his ears, and the surge of adrenaline is making him feel jittery and out-of-breath. He really shouldn’t say anything, because for all he knows he’s just reading his own past into Stark’s present, that the accidents really _are_ just accidents, and he could be destroying his own career and privileged life if he says what he wants to say, but he can’t make himself push the fucking button, eliminating the opportunity to open his big, idiotic mouth.

“Doctor?” he hears Stark ask with concern behind him, and Stephen sighs as he comes to terms with his inevitable fate.

“You know, I’m the best in this country when it comes to neurosurgery, if not the world,” Stephen says, turning towards Stark as he crosses his arms, and there’s pride in his voice even though his tone is shaky with nerves to his own ears. “It’s the reason why they brought you here, because you’re a man whose brain needs to be protected at all costs and obviously you can afford my services, so naturally you were entrusted into my care. Have to protect that wealth of knowledge in your head after all, especially considering that more than half of the equipment I use to maintain my perfect record was created by _you_ , a product of your brain. Sure, I’d likely still be the best of the best even without your tech because I am very good at my job, but your tech makes it infinitely easier to save every patient that is put on my operating table.”

Stark blinks at him, frowning, and Stephen has an absent thought that he’s actually rather attractive even when he’s covered in bandages and has a cast on his arm. Still, it’s an irrelevant concept, particularly right now, so he continues, “My point is that I’m the best, which means I have tenure, which _also_ means that this hospital will fork out obscene amounts of money to their legal department so they can keep me employed when you inevitably sue me for what I’m about to say, regardless of the fact that I saved your life and livelihood.”

Stark opens his mouth, the frown deepening and eyes narrowed with confusion, but Stephen doesn’t allow him to vocalise whatever is about to come out of his mouth, his pulse pounding in his ears and hands shaking with adrenaline: “The problem with domestic violence is that escalation always gets normalised until it can’t escalate anymore.”

Stark goes white, which just cements Stephen’s assessment of the injuries over the years. Even though he should really stop fucking talking, Stephen continues tightly, “At first, it’s just words and belittlements and gaslighting, but when that’s not challenged, it’s suddenly considered the new normal, and eventually that just doesn’t give an abuser the same high anymore, the same power trip, does it? So then it’s a push, a shove, a dish thrown at your head, a slap, a hit, until suddenly you’re in my hospital because of blunt force trauma to the back of the head, going through a seven-hour, very expensive surgery that you won’t even accept painkillers to help you manage. Did you know that the parietal lobe is understood to be directly connected with interpreting and processing information, visual and sensory both, as well as _mathematics and language_? Do you know that you would’ve been unable to invent life-saving equipment for my patients and millions, if not billions of people who need medical care if I hadn’t been the best of the best? Do you know that you wouldn’t be able to build weapons or revolutionise industries single-handedly if you couldn’t even remember how to add two plus two anymore? Do you understand how astronomically _lucky_ you are that you don’t have permanent brain damage from the fragmentation?”

Stark stares at him, olive skin grey and eyes so wide that there’s a circle of bloodshot white around the irises, and Stephen snaps, “My little sister was permanently disabled from domestic abuse, which resulted in her drowning right in front of me even though she was a strong swimmer before that. My mother _died_ from domestic abuse, not too dissimilar to your own situation when my father bashed her head over and over and _over_ again into a kitchen counter, and she wasn’t a genius like you, who invents things that help people, not just in medicine but in the hundreds of different fields you’ve revolutionised. And trust me, Mr Stark – this is the next rung on escalation, you mark my words, and despite the fact that your brain is the reason you’re one hell of a meal ticket, it’s open season now. It’s going to escalate, like it always does, and next time she decides to take a swing at you with whatever she likes to use to bash your head in, you might not be so fucking lucky.”

Stephen takes a few deep breaths, closing his eyes against the frustration and anger until he pulls himself together. God, this was goddamn stupid, and what is Stark to him? Sure, he makes the vast majority of Stephen’s tech he uses in surgery but it’s not like he wouldn’t still be the best without it, nor does it mean that multitudes of other companies couldn’t fill the gap if Stark’s plastic, insane fiancée fucks up bad enough to actually kill him, accident or not (he supposes that would depend on whether or not they’re getting a prenup). It’s none of Stephen’s business, and he might have tenure and a sparkling reputation in his field but he’s still just a man, and Stark’s vast wealth and resources will undoubtedly ruin him when he takes legal action.

Stephen grits his teeth for a moment before he manages to put on his usual impassive mask, and he turns back to the button. He stares at it for a moment, a small little bluish-white circle that he should’ve just fucking _pressed_ before he’d thrown his entire career down the drain, and says quietly, “I look forward to seeing you in court, Mr Stark.”

Then he pushes the button and walks out of the room, barely even taking the time to reassure Nefaria that her convenient punching bag is within normal parameters.

He has patients to save, after all, for as long as he’s legally allowed to do so.

* * *

Stephen works himself damn near to exhaustion in preparation of the lawsuit before he hears the gossip.

He almost drops his scalpel mid-incision as the nurses chatter around him, and he uncharacteristically snaps to his peanut gallery, “Cut the chatter so I can concentrate.” Mercifully they do, and he doesn’t have to look up to know that they’re all glancing at each other in confusion. After all, he’s always lenient on the chatter, just like any other surgeon who isn’t a piece of shit, and generally joins in with blistering commentary to boot, so the fact that he’s demanding silence is an oddity. He doesn’t care, because he’s got a head on his table with severe brain stem trauma and if he allows himself to even think about what he’s just heard, even in abstract, he’s probably going to lose the plot. Hell, it might not even be true, some bullshit article in the _Daily Bugle_ or something, and he can’t afford to get distracted right now.

Four hours later, he closes up and then heads to decon, doing the usual dance with his techs and cleaning himself up. He doesn’t have another head scheduled until after his thirty-minute dinner block, save any acute trauma patients that might roll up in emergency, so he has some time to do some research – God, he can’t believe that’s considered _research_ , what the fuck – while shovelling down his meal in his private office, though he usually takes his breaks down in the cafeteria so he can boast of his most recent success.

He bolts the second he’s done, smoothly avoiding Christine as she beelines towards him (probably to tear him a new arsehole for his uncharacteristic anger in theatre or to ask what’s wrong) and only detouring to grab his prepared food from the fifth-floor breakroom. He takes the stairs to the fourth and slips into his office, quickly warming his food in his personal microwave with a few button presses, and then as he waits, he pulls out his mobile from his top drawer in his desk and ignores all his notifications as he starts googling.

Well, the story’s pretty much on every non-major news network, so that’s a good indicator that there’s some truth in the claim that Stark’s broken off his engagement with his fiancée of two years. The official statement through SI’s PR team is inconsolable differences (which is one way to put it), and a lot of media speculation is leaning towards Stark cheating (which Stephen _seriously_ doubts, if only because Stark _had_ to be smarter than that, being engaged to an abuser), but ultimately it’s pretty cut-and-dry.

He gets his food in a daze, unsure if he’s feeling wary that he might still get sued or if he’s just damn relieved that he possibly managed to help _someone_ when he couldn’t help his own mother and sister all those years ago. It’s mostly the latter, a bone-deep relief that maybe he was the deciding factor, that maybe he’d said something that had finally given Stark the push to think about both himself and all the people who are counting on him in the world. If he was even slightly responsible for Stark’s decision, then...that’s the most amazing thing he’s probably ever done in his entire goddamn life, and that’s saying a lot.

As he eats mechanically, digesting the new and surprising information he’s just read, he scrolls through his notifications. Most of it is nonsense, pings on Twitter or e-mails from colleagues around the world, mixed in with a few texts from his brother and Christine. There’s one text from an unknown number though, and he almost deletes it before he registers the words associated with it: _Thank you._

Stephen doesn’t know if it’s just a text sent in error, which is almost certainly the most likely possibility with a Manhattan number, but something about it makes his heart beat faster because what if?

He hesitates, and then texts back, _You’re the one who was strong and brave enough to save yourself._

He tosses his mobile back into his desk and abandons the rest of his dinner before whoever it was ( _Stark?_ ) can text back, heading to theatre early and his head swirling with thoughts.

* * *

Life goes on.

Work and play and sex and sleep, all in a repeat that makes time fly, and by the time November hits, he’s all but forgotten about Stark. He’s had yet another ill-advised rehash of his relationship with Christine, which predictably became a train wreck after the first week, and they cut it off after a month, vowing once again to never fall in bed with each other. Instead, he picks up men and women at cocktail parties and conferences, occasionally at bars when he’s in a foreign country, and enjoys the play of it all in between work. He’s more of a relationship-oriented guy, admittedly, but he’s never managed to hold a one for longer than a few months and most of those were with Christine. It’s just difficult, his job too demanding and important for Stephen to focus the vast majority of his energy on a partner, which just breeds resentment. There’s a reason why he generally only dates people in the medical field, because no one else can possibly understand the passion for the job while suffering through Stephen working long shifts and constantly travelling for speeches when he gets awarded for something. The only people he could possibly date are individuals who either understood the demands of Stephen’s job and could be happy with considerable amounts of time alone, or could match it with their own demands on their time, and that’s just not easy to find. So one-night stands it is, and if he wishes it were different, well...it’s not like there’s much he can do about it without quitting his job and becoming a professor.

And yeah, that’s not going to happen any time soon, not while he still has strength in his body. He may be an egocentric, prideful bastard, but he didn’t become a neurosurgeon to sit on his arse teaching green students and grading papers. He genuinely does want to save lives, and he will continue to do so until the day he is unable to hold a scalpel.

Despite the fact that he’d all but forgotten him, Stark comes barrelling into his life from stage left at approximately twelve thousand miles per hour on a cold day in mid-November, courtesy of a banquet celebrating New York’s medical community during the Thanksgiving holidays. Stephen is only attending for a few hours, stuck in a surgery for the first half and then having to pop over to his apartment to shower and change into his tuxedo, but he’s not interested in the fake accolades anyway. If anyone cared, they wouldn’t be throwing a fancy banquet for all medical personnel and would instead use the money to get them equipment, or better yet, pay their fucking staff better, particularly non-tenured staff.

Hell, while Stephen gets paid significantly more than nurses or janitorial staff, he’s _still_ paying off student loans and copious medical bills even after ten years of working, and a good chunk of his actual income goes to that crushing debt. The only way he can maintain his high-maintenance lifestyle is by accepting invitations to speak at conferences on a regular basis, which for someone of Stephen’s calibre is easy to do, and luckily they pay obscene prices to have him speak. He even gets loaned out around the world to do major, problematic surgeries for the right price, carefully monitored by his employers at Metro-General, and that’s a good chunk of change too, not to mention an opportunity to get his name out there more.

The only reason he’s attending is because he wants to suss out Christine’s new boyfriend – who sounds like a fucking moron to Stephen, and that’s not even taking into account the rumour mill’s opinion on him – and also because he’s fairly certain that Melanie Carmichael is attending, a brilliant woman who runs the entire cardiology department at Mount Sinai. They generally hook up when they’re both able to make the time for it, her husband always game to watch with a hand down his pants, and Stephen’s in the mood to get laid, if only because he’s not going have any free time for the next few months. The holiday season is always busy, a solid two months in the grind because people get stupid, generally due to alcohol and suicide attempts, and he’s probably going to end up celibate except his right hand for a while.

He strolls in, beelines to Christine’s boyfriend so he can threaten his life if he hurts her (because no one hurts his best friend), and once he’s made the guy metaphorically piss himself, he finally goes to mingle, keeping an eye on _Martin_ so he doesn’t decide to slip his dick into someone just because Christine’s not here to catch him at it. He’s heard via the gossip mill from colleagues at NYP-LM that he’s a serial cheater, and he’ll be damned if it happens right in front of him.

Then, as Stephen sees Melanie and Terry in the corner of the room and starts making his way toward them, Stark himself taps Stephen on the shoulder with the bottom of a glass of champagne, offering him the other glass that’s in his opposite hand.

Stephen blinks at him for a second, frowning, but ultimately reaches to take the glass as he says flatly, “Well, at least it’s not a lawsuit.”

“I have lawyers to do that for me,” Stark says with a media-ready grin, clinking the rim of his own glass on Stephen’s. They both sip their bubbly, eyeing each other all the while ( _and damn he’s nice to look at_ , he thinks to himself), and then Stark adds, “Besides, it’d be poor form to serve you at a banquet meant to applaud your heroic efforts for New York’s citizens.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time,” Stephen admits drolly, thinking back to his sixth year as a doctor, when he’d pissed off a Senator when he’d refused to operate on his wife and ended up getting served at a conference in Pittsburgh. Nothing had come of it, mostly because the medicine had been on his side due to her tumour being completely inoperable, but it had still been a shock. He’s been sued before – he literally doesn’t know a doctor who _hasn’t_ been – but that had been...

There was nothing _anyone_ could’ve done for her outside of building a time machine. The tumour had already left her brain dead, and it had metastasised to pretty much every other major organ in her body. For fuck’s sake, she’d died _twelve hours_ after he’d received her chart and declined to operate, and the surgery itself would’ve taken at least ten on top of the three he’d need to travel to Pennsylvania, if he counted the commute.

“That sounds like a shit story,” Stark says airily. “Wanna tell me all about it?”

The next two hours is both fascinating and hilarious. They bitch about Senator Stern, then hypocritical politicians in general, then the abhorrent American healthcare system, then the FDA, then patents for medical tech, then Big Pharma, then airline companies, and eventually end up in a back-and-forth about tech, specifically how frustrating the American network is in hospitals or clinics. Stark – Tony, really – is genuinely curious about Stephen’s complaints about how disconnected everything is in the medical realm, asking questions that grow increasingly technical as he starts jotting down notes on a cocktail napkin.

It’s an old criticism, really, and every person who’s ever worked in the medical field or even health insurance knows the fucking pain of it – if the entire healthcare system, from cities to rural areas, had a universal network that seamlessly connected together, sharing information and backing up data, they would be able to stop errors and pull up medical information at the drop of a hat, leading to better billing practises and superior medical care regardless of where in the country a patient was. As it is, hospitals are so underfunded, particularly in rural areas, that every system is running independently, sometimes even in the same city, and all of the tech is paper-only or simply outdated, which means that they’re going through paper at an astronomical rate and accidentally losing data or entire medical records, particularly if a patient was to move to a different district or state. It’s infuriating, honestly, and even though Stephen knows he has it good at Metro-General, it’s really difficult to do his job effectively and in an expedient timeframe when he’s trying to get medical records from patients that are airlifted to his OR from another hospital or clinic.

He’s had heads almost die because of allergic reactions or from aggravating pre-existing conditions, and that is the last thing a brain trauma patient needs when they’re unconscious on his table, unable to vocalise their medical requirements.

It’s rather fun to debate security and HIPPA and clouds and wireless updates from medical tech to their computer systems with _the_ tech genius of the century, actually, and he’s strangely dejected when the banquet administrator gives her final speech, thanking them all for coming.

They slowly finish their drinks, watching the mass exodus and making no move to join the herd, and Tony says, “That was fun and invigorating. Need a job? I know a guy who can get you a lead slot at Stark Industries in the medical division.”

Stephen laughs. “Thanks, but I’ll stick with my heads if you don’t mind. I’ll keep your offer in mind though, if it helps you sleep at night.”

“Taking you to my place would help me sleep _tonight_ ,” Tony says around the lip of his Scotch, very obviously checking Stephen out with dark, lingering eyes.

Stephen raises an eyebrow, his own eyes trailing down Tony’s body – fit, solid, deliciously clad in an expensive, gunmetal grey suit with a blood-red tie – before he tosses back the rest of his bourbon and says, “My place is closer.”

Tony grins, downs the rest of his drink, and replies, “Lead the way.”

* * *

Stephen wakes up to the delicious feeling of a mouth sucking his hard prick.

He groans in the back of his throat, hands dropping down so he can thread his fingers into thick, mussed hair, and groggily fucks his hips up until he can hear Tony choking around his length, loud and lewd. He doesn’t stop though, newly aware that Tony is enthusiastically on board with Stephen being rough, and chases his own pleasure, balls throbbing and tight against his body. God, he’s already so close, and he wonders how long Tony’s been working on him because he thought he was all fucked out after their enthusiastic, slightly drunken tumble before passing out in a tangled heap. Probably a while, if he’s already so close to the edge, and he reluctantly pulls Tony off after a few minutes of relishing the sounds of Tony choking and moaning around him, more interested in getting inside him again rather than having to pull out of that tight throat to come all over Tony’s face (though that’s a lovely thought too).

Tony doesn’t waste any time, stretching out to grab a condom and rolling it on Stephen’s prick with minimal effort before he’s manoeuvring his body, straddling Stephen’s hips and sinking down. He’s still so tight despite the fact that Stephen had fucked him like a goddamn animal before they’d passed out, and Jesus _fuck_ , he must’ve been fingering himself when he was choking on Stephen’s prick, though he suspects that Tony’s still sticky with lube from before.

Tony rides him like he’s dying for it, and Stephen finally opens his eyes to watch the show, moaning at the sight of Tony’s remarkably fit body working above him, his left hand flying over his own erection. Stephen’s hands move to Tony’s cut hips, forcing him down harder as he pushes up into Tony’s hole, but it’s not enough, it’s fucking not _enough_ , he wants Tony _screaming_.

He lifts up and then flips them over, mercifully not even slipping out, and starts pounding into him, as hard and fast as he possibly can, one arm holding his weight up as he dips his head down, teeth dragging and biting Tony’s taut neck as the taste of salt blooms over his tongue. Tony’s definitely crying out now, head thrown back as he jerks himself off frantically, and he’s so fucking _tight_ , sucking him in like a vice even though Stephen’s trying his damndest to wreck his hole until Tony can’t help but remember Stephen’s prick every time he sits or moves.

Tony tenses and then sobs out a moan, his entire body going rigid as he comes, hot against their stomachs, and Stephen hisses, “ _God_ , yes, there you go, so good for me, fucking _beautiful_ ,” before he’s coming himself, hard and fast in bright pulses of sensation that makes his entire body clench. His hips jerk as he rides his orgasm, and fuck he wishes he wasn’t wrapped up so he could drench Tony’s insides with his spunk. He wants Tony to reek of him, looking like a vision as it dripped out of his body and down muscular thighs.

He manages to fall to the side when everything tips into oversensitivity, slipping out with a lewd squelch and nearly losing the condom in the process, and he fumbles between his trembling thighs so he can pinch it off and toss it in the general direction of the bin, though he likely misses by a long shot.

Tony laughs, a breathless and giddy sound, and Stephen grins as he buries his face back into Tony’s damp neck, shivering a bit as the sweat on his body begins to cool. He trails fingers across Tony’s chest, flicking and tracing around pebbled nipples just to feel Tony squirm and gasp against him, and then dips his fingers down low, rubbing Tony’s come into his skin and fondling his softening prick. Tony thrashes and moans with an edge of pain in his voice even as he pushes his hips into Stephen’s hand, prick twitching against his fingers in a valiant attempt to get hard, and Stephen just bites and sucks at that glorious, corded neck, wondering if he can tear another oversensitive, dry orgasm out of Tony if he works hard enough.

“What time is it?” he asks in a sleep-rough and sated murmur, licking at the pulse point fluttering rapidly against his tongue. He’s fairly certain his alarm hasn’t gone off but he can’t be entirely sure, because they’d gone hard last night and there’s a chance they slept right through it.

Tony pants, groans, whines, sobs out a whispered _fuck_ , and then chokes out, “If I say that I’ve invented a way to make time stop, will you keep—oh _God_ —keep doing that?”

Stephen hums under his breath, his own prick trying its hardest to get hard again even though he knows he’s pretty much done for, and says, “I have a surgery scheduled for nine so I need to leave here by seven at the latest.”

Tony moans thickly, legs spreading as he starts working his hips minutely, his prick actually starting to miraculously stiffen up just a bit, and then says out loud, “JARVIS, what time is it?”

Stephen’s hand stalls for a moment when a lilting, tinny British tone says from off to the side, “ _It is 5:42a.m., November 18, 2007, sir._ ”

“It’s my AI embedded in my phone, now please don’t stop,” Tony explains breathlessly, but Stephen doesn’t oblige. His alarm won’t go off for another eighteen minutes, but there’s no way that Tony will be able to get off in that amount of time and Stephen definitely won’t be able to. Still, he supposes he can make a valiant attempt at it anyway, and he’d prefer a different environment in the event that they get too distracted to move.

“Hmm, I think I’d rather suck you off in the shower,” Stephen says against Tony’s kiss-bitten neck, licking at a bruise lingeringly before he pushes himself out of bed. “I bet you’re gorgeous all wet,” he adds, eyeing Tony’s splayed body heatedly as he slowly begins walking backwards to his bathroom. “I wonder if I could get you off one more time before I have to go to work.”

Tony looks at him, strangely unguarded and dark eyes impossibly big in the moonlight that streams through his glass wall. “Well,” he says, then bites his lip and seemingly steels himself before continuing, “I’d be interested to find out, though if I can’t, we can always try again. Maybe after, let’s say, dinner when your shift ends?”

Stephen slows to a halt and blinks with surprise, then asks slowly, “Are you asking me out?”

“Maybe I am,” Tony says, body strangely tense even while his face is so open, and Stephen can see the wary nerves as if he’s reading it from a book.

Fuck, this is probably a monumentally stupid idea, considering his busy schedule, but then he remembers that Tony is one of the busiest men on the planet, hands-on with his company’s R&D division instead of fucking around like most CEOs, and ponders if they could...actually do this if they managed their time right.

He honestly has no idea, but now that the option is on the table, he finds himself wanting to try.

“Alright,” Stephen says airily, and smiles when Tony grins at him brightly, his damp, bruise-littered olive skin so fucking gorgeous against his white sheets, before he launches himself out of Stephen’s bed with a brilliant laugh.

* * *

Surprisingly, dating Tony Stark doesn’t really change his life much.

Well, it does in the obvious ways: regular and very enthusiastic sex on pretty much every surface of both of their places, eating together when they’re both in-country and have some time between work, the paparazzi following him around all the time while photographs of him end up in gossip mags, a short two-day holiday in Rome that Tony’s PA had put together, exuberant gifts that Tony gives him regularly that he reciprocates as best he can with his finances, and his staff ribbing him both during surgery and on the floor. Christine (who’d ended her relationship with that other bastard and is now seeing someone else who is a thousand times better and more worthy of her, doting on his best friend while not smothering her) gives him an obscene amount of shit – mostly because she’s the only one he’d mentioned the possibility of getting sued by Tony’s estate, though he’d been careful not to break any HIPPA laws even if she probably knew what he’d snapped about, considering she’d seen Tony’s medical record during the diff and knows Stephen’s background – and gives Tony a shovel talk when she first meets him, which had tickled Tony to death. To be fair, Tony’s ex-girlfriend and PA, Pepper Potts, had done the same thing, admittedly more passive-aggressively than Christine had threatened Tony, so Stephen supposes it’s all even.

Obadiah Stane, the COO of Stark Industries, doesn’t give him a shovel talk despite being Tony’s father figure. It’s more of a _now don’t go stealing corporate secrets Doctor Strange; Tony is a talker, and is always getting himself into trouble when he should know better by now, so try not to make it harder on Tony during board meetings, alright? Wouldn’t want to slap you with a lawsuit. That’s a good man._

Stephen doesn’t like him much, though mercifully he’s usually at the California office.

Otherwise, though, nothing really changes. Tony isn’t concerned about Stephen’s long work schedule, considering he has his own busy life, so that’s a relief, and if anything, it’s harder to make time with _Tony_ than the other way around. Tony goes on engineering binges where he doesn’t leave his R&D workshop for days, and usually can only be dragged out when Stephen finally lures him with the promise of expensive food and athletic sex. It’s honestly convenient for both of them, if Stephen’s honest – he gets time alone to pursue his own interests or travel for conferences and surgeries, while Tony gets his time to decompress and relax with his tech. One of his most pressing concerns in any new relationship is that his partner generally wants to all but live on top of him, trying to spend every conceivable moment together when Stephen’s not working, and it’s a relief that he doesn’t have to deal with that from Tony.

Of course, they do spend a lot of time together, not just fucking like rabbits but also talking, touching, and bantering as they relax with each other in one of their apartments, on occasion even brainstorming about things that sometimes has to do with the medical field and sometimes not. Stephen admittedly does get lost during the latter, Tony’s brain so bright and knowledgeable about so many things that Stephen couldn’t possibly begin to understand without a PhD in physics or engineering (and that is a type of intelligence that Stephen decidedly does _not_ have), but it’s really interesting to listen to Tony talk about the ways he wants to fix or revolutionise something, particularly when Pepper’s in the room too and he gets to listen in on the political and economic side of an argument.

He suspects that maybe Nefaria hadn’t been so understanding, because in the beginning Tony had been wary of talking about things for too long and would apologise if he went on a tangent, and once Stephen had assured him multiple times that it was actually nice to hear it, he’d fallen into the habit of regularly interjecting that “I can shut up if you want, just let me know when you’re tired of hearing me natter on”. It’s irritating to hear all the time, if he’s honest, though he doesn’t blame Tony for the conditioning, and despite the fact that Stephen’s not a violent man in the slightest, he’s actually worried about ever being in the same room with Nefaria in the future, which is possible considering she runs in the same circles as Tony.

He just...genuinely doesn’t understand it. Tony’s mind is a fascinating thing, and it’s utterly beautiful to listen to him when his voice is loud with excitement and he can’t stop going off on tangents that his brainstorming leads him down, calloused hands gesturing wildly as he thinks out loud and whisky-brown eyes so bright that it’s almost blinding. Perhaps it’s just Stephen’s affection ( _love, he’s fairly certain this is love_ ) for Tony as well as his inherent captivation of the human mind in general that makes it so alluring, but Stephen adores it, even though half the time he’s completely lost.

In any case, their relationship is remarkably easy and comfortable, and it’s hands-down the most satisfying one he’s ever been in. They mesh together really well and they never fight – though there are a few minefields that they have to carefully navigate, generally regarding their childhood experiences but also little moments where it’s clear Tony’s trying to overcompensate with gifts or expensive dinners, a learnt behaviour from his toxic relationship with Nefaria when he’d ‘ignored’ her or something in exchange for meeting work deadlines – which is a good omen, especially once they hit the six-month mark.

It’s the longest relationship Stephen’s ever been in, and he’s just as content and captivated with Tony as he was the first night they were together, even though they’ve eased into a normalcy that should be mundane by now. Actually, the fact that they’ve even made it long enough to _have_ that normalcy – when Stephen’s so used to his relationships falling apart within weeks due to his job – is astounding, and he would’ve thought it was impossible to become even more overwhelmed by his feelings for Tony but every single day without fail Stephen seems to fall in love with him all over again.

The only thing that slightly bothers him is the expensive gifts and grovelling when Tony works long hours, because even though Stephen is a man who enjoys the finer things in life, he dislikes that Tony has been conditioned into believing that he has to buy his way into a happy relationship, as if the only thing that makes him worthy is sex and money. Still, he can’t be angry about a learnt behaviour based off emotional and physical trauma, so he does his best to be patient and assure Tony that it’s unnecessary while also buying _Tony_ gifts, which unfailingly surprises Tony to the point where he even occasionally excuses himself, locking himself in another room while he attempts to pull himself together without an audience, never willing to let Stephen see that side of him.

Stephen does think that he’s making a dent on that toxic mentality at least, because one day Tony forgets to bring him an expensive gift after a three-day bender in his workshop and starts to apologise, an air of frantic panic bleeding from his pores as if he thinks Stephen will throw him out of his apartment for the sheer gall of not being showered in diamonds. Stephen just shakes his head with a smile, pulling Tony’s tense body on top of him, and takes the opportunity to practise some positive reinforcement, saying quietly, “I don’t need your presents Tony. The greatest gift you could ever give me is giving me your time when you have it, and love me just as much as I love you.”

He doesn’t let Tony run away this time, holding him and kissing his hair as Tony shakes in his arms.

He doesn’t stop giving gifts after that night, but it does taper off slightly; most of the presents are when he gets caught up in work for more than a day, long accustomed to buying his apologies in an effort to appease his fiancée (and, Stephen suspects, his father, though with weapons’ designs rather than precious gems and a bank card). Even so, Tony is starting to oh-so-slowly break the habit, and Stephen rewards that was easy affection and camaraderie, doing everything he can to help hammer home that he’s not in this relationship for the money or the truly brilliant sex but for Tony himself, every single part of him, good and bad.

And then, just over seven months into their relationship, they have their first fight.

* * *

Stephen had been concerned long before Tony had finally surfaced, which had exacerbated the situation.

The longest he’s not seen Tony is a few days, usually because of international travel for business but occasionally due to workshop binges, and he’s not allowed in the R&D workshops, either the official floors in Stark Tower nor Tony’s private one in the upper levels, for very obvious reasons (specifically because he doesn’t have a need-to-know with classified projects and because it’s too dangerous). It’s never bothered Stephen before, but after almost three weeks of no communication or seeing a hair on Tony’s head, Stephen’s nearly out of his mind with worry. Of course, Pepper does give him proof of life, assuring him that Tony’s not dead in the guts of an engine or been kidnapped (again, apparently) by some psycho, so that admittedly takes some of the edge off, but it’s a long period of time to not see his partner and he can’t help but worry. His own work doesn’t suffer despite it, but he takes to spending all of his spare time in Tony’s penthouse other than a quick trip to collect a good chunk of his clothes, waiting for Tony to surface as his mind comes up with worst-case scenarios.

He knows it’s illogical to do that, because surely Tony had just got caught up in some whirlwind project and it’s not certainly Stephen’s place to police Tony’s activities – he has no right to demand that Tony pull himself out of an intellectually stimulating problem just to spend some time with him at least once a week. They have their own lives and responsibilities, and Stephen doesn’t fault Tony in the slightest for that. He’s not at all resentful for that, just worried, because he doesn’t think that it’s out of line to want at least _something_ , even just a text or a short, hurried phone call every few days. A few days of no-contact isn’t a big deal, but _three solid weeks_ is just too much; it makes Stephen wonder Tony’s going through something and is trying to deal with it on his own instead of coming to Stephen for support, or if Tony’s not eating and sleeping properly as he’s prone to do during an engineering bender, or hell, if Stephen himself has done something wrong and Tony’s mustering up the courage to break up with him. Stephen’s just _worried_ , and he doesn’t like that he hasn’t even gotten a text explaining his absence, or even just to say ‘ _busy ttyl_ ’.

He’s in the lift of Stark Tower when his mobile pings, and when he checks it with a frantically beating heart, praying that it’s Tony, he actually starts shaking with anger instead.

He fumes as he storms into the penthouse, tearing his clothes off to take a shower, and scrubs himself harshly as his brain churns with frustration. He loves Tony, he really fucking does, but instead of a simple text, the only thing he’d gotten was a notification from his credit agency, telling him cheerfully that the remaining balance of his debts – about eighty grand for student loans and approximately a hundred and twelve thousand for the remaining medical and funeral bills he’s still paying for his family members – have been paid in-full. It’s infuriating, overwhelmingly so, and he can’t stop shaking with frustration even though it’s technically the first sign of life he’s gotten from Tony in three goddamn weeks.

The thousand-dollar watches and designer clothes and expensive dinners are things that he can handle when Tony’s buying an apology. Two hundred grand in debt being paid off at once before even sending a single text to say _hello_ or _sorry_ is too fucking much, and he’s positively vibrating with anger because is that really all that Stephen’s worthy of? Not a quick message to say _I love you_ or _I’m sorry_ or _I miss you_ but just a cheque in the bank as if that’ll make all of Stephen’s worry go away?

He turns off the shower, dries off with too-rough swipes of a soft towel so he can feel the sting, and dresses in something that he doesn’t mind going out in, just in case Stephen needs to leave in a hurry. Most of his clothes are here at Tony’s but he still has some things at his own place, so he doesn’t pack a bug-out bag, not wanting to give off the wrong impression. He is so livid but he’s not even remotely close to calling things off; he just needs to sit Tony down and hash it out, because this can’t continue. He doesn’t need this extravagance and monetary apology – all he wants is to know his fucking boyfriend, the man he loves more than _anyone_ he’s ever loved before, is still breathing every once and a while, for fuck’s sake.

He walks out of the bedroom and sees Tony sitting at the bar that separates the kitchen from the sitting room, and as Tony opens his mouth to start apologising and grovelling as he always does, Stephen snaps, “What in the actual _fuck_?”

Tony flinches, eyes darting around the room, and says, “I’m sorry for being gone for so long, I just had—”

“I don’t care about the excuses, Tony,” he says, trying his damndest to keep himself from yelling. “I have _never_ cared if you got distracted by your work or hobbies down in your workshop, have _never_ complained about days of no contact, and I have no desire to do any of those things. I’m happy that you’re getting things done, and what you do in your own time is up to you because you’re an independent, grown ass man and I am not your babysitter. But this was _three weeks_ , Tony, three weeks of no contact, no calls, not even just a simple fucking _text_ to let me know that you weren’t lying on the floor of your workshop _dead_ , and I can’t do that. I can’t and I fucking won’t.”

Tony lurches up, olive skin grey and eyes wild, stumbling towards Stephen as he croaks weakly, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please—”

But Stephen doesn’t want to listen to his excuses until he’s said his piece. He interjects sharply, voice rising in volume the longer he goes, “No, I’m not done yet. You give me _nothing_ for _weeks_ , and the first sign of life that I get from you is not a phone call telling me that you’re not dead but instead a notification that you’ve paid off all my bills? Your _apology_ probably just made my credit tank because I suddenly have no long-term loans to my name and if we break up, do you know how devastating this will be for me financially? Not to mention that those debts were _my_ responsibility, because I am _also_ an independent, grown ass man who doesn’t need your goddamn money. Fucking _Christ_ , is that really what you think of me? A charity case that you can buy off without thinking of how it will affect me in the long run? I’m not a man who can be _bought_ , and you are _not_ my meal ticket, contrary to what every other person you’ve been with expected from you. I’m not your fucking _child_ , Tony, and I will _not_ accept being treated like one.”

And Tony completely breaks down.

For a long moment, Stephen is the worst human being in the entire world because he totally freezes, his brain not making the connection to what he’s used to from Tony and what’s happening right now in front of him. For all of his idiosyncrasies and openness when it comes to positive emotions, Tony has never shown any sort of vulnerability with Stephen outside of near-frantic grovelling and apologies when he thinks he’s done something wrong, and this is...this is so far past that it makes Stephen’s entire chest ache because this is not okay, he’s gone too far in his anger. Tony’s fucking _weeping_ , hard and loud and obviously panicked, choking out thin pleas that Stephen can hardly make out because it’s so wet and slurred. He falls to his knees, curling into himself as he rocks himself back and forth, and Stephen just can’t make himself move to comfort him and _why isn’t he moving?_

Then Tony sobs out, “I’m so sorry, please, I’m sorry, please don’t leave me, I’ll do better, I’m sorry, _please_ don’t leave—” and Stephen finally snaps into action, dropping down and reaching for Tony, desperate to calm him down, hold him close, apologise-apologise- _apologise_.

Except Tony flinches away from him, entire body tensing as he braces himself for impact, and Stephen’s stomach rolls with nausea, jerking away as if burnt.

“Oh God,” Stephen manages to whisper, sinuses burning as the tears start, and he wants to vomit, his mouth sour and sticky as the bile burns up his oesophagus. He swallows it down, shaking and so heavy with dread, and rasps, “No, no, I’m—I won’t hurt you. I’m sorry, I just—can I touch you? Please, I just want to hold you, fuck, I will never hurt you like that, I promise, I _promise_ —”

Tony all but throws himself at Stephen, nearly knocking them both over as he seemingly tries to curl himself into Stephen’s body, clearly trying to pull himself together even as he begs _please don’t leave me_ over and over again in between sobs that he can’t hold back. Stephen buries his face in Tony’s hair in response, shaking hands stroking every inch of Tony’s body he can reach, and whispers over Tony’s strangled pleas, “I’m not going anywhere, Tony. I promise that I’m not going anywhere, not unless you want me to, okay? I’m sorry I yelled, I just...I was so worried about you and I lost my temper and I’m so sorry.”

“I fucked up,” Tony croaks thickly, his voice so damn small and pained that Stephen’s eyes clench shut, forcing himself to breathe past the guilt and horror as silent tears drip down his cheeks.

Gently but honestly, Stephen murmurs just loud enough to be heard over Tony’s sniffling, “Yes, it wasn’t good and I’m upset about what you did; I’m not going to lie to you about that just to make you feel better. But I fucked up too. I shouldn’t have yelled, and...and I was out of line with the things I said. I know you love me, and that it manifests differently for both of us, which is something that I’ve been trying to get used to. I just think we should talk and maybe come up with some ground rules, come to a compromise that makes us both happy instead of ending up repeating this in the future. Is that okay?”

“I just don’t want you to leave,” Tony whimpers, fingers clenching in in Stephen’s damp shirt and rubbing his forehead against the fabric, back and forth, hard as if he’s trying to burrow his way into his chest. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I fucked it up.”

Stephen holds Tony’s head against his chest, trying to keep him from abrading his forehead, and whispers, “I’m not going anywhere, because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me too.” Tony moans, a wounded sound, and Stephen says softly, “It’s a relationship, Tony – we’re going to mess up on occasion, and that’s okay. It’s healthy to argue as long as it’s within boundaries, and as long as we talk and compromise afterwards, we’ll figure it out.” He hesitates, squeezing Tony gently and pressing a kiss against his hair, and then asks through the ball of dread and fear in his throat, “No matter how angry and upset I get, you know that I will never hit you, right?”

“Yeah,” Tony gasps instantly, but he shivers all over anyway, full-body and almost vibrating from the force of it.

Stephen hates it, but he’s ultimately unsurprised by the reaction. He knows it will take time – and unfortunately more arguments in the future, an inevitable reality – before Tony truly believes Stephen, and he understands, even though it makes him ache like he’s nothing but an open wound. After nearly twenty years under his father’s firm hand and then six years in an abusive relationship with Nefaria, it’ll take time to break through that instinctive reaction and learn to trust Stephen to not hurt him, and Stephen knows that he shouldn’t take it personally. He just needs to not lose his temper and let his scathing verbal defences get the best of his rationality, which is something Stephen obviously needs to work on because he doesn’t want to hurt Tony emotionally either. Of course, with any relationship and argument there will be some emotional pain on both sides, but there’s a difference between healthy and abusive pain, and Stephen emphatically refuses to follow in the footsteps of his own father, tearing Tony down with cruelty and dismissive words.

“Okay,” Stephen finally says, breathing in the smell of metal and sweat as he presses his nose into Tony’s hair, and continues to stroke and soothe Tony until the sporadic sobs cease and his breathing goes even. It seems like it takes forever but there’s not much to be done about it, and honestly there’s nowhere he’d rather be. He just wants to curl up with Tony in bed for the first time in a while and sleep for the next twelve hours; the talk they need to have can wait until they’ve both calmed down and rested, and Stephen mentally goes over his schedule tomorrow to see what he can shuffle around so he can possibly call in sick. It’s doable, unless an emergency head is rolled into his OR, and he squirms a bit so he can dig his mobile out of his pocket and dial his admin’s number, and after that, Christine’s.

He doesn’t even have to fake his exhaustion or the raspy tone of his voice as he tells them he’s coming down with something, so emotionally drained and physically fatigued that it bleeds through every syllable. He rasps his promises to get better soon and finally slips his phone back into his pocket before he strokes Tony’s cheek as best he can and says, “Let’s go to bed and get some sleep, okay?”

Tony mumbles an agreement, and it’s difficult to get them both up and moving when Tony’s plastered against him, unwilling to pull away even a little bit, but they manage, bypassing a shower so they can fall into Tony’s bed together. They burrow into cool sheets and blankets, stripped to their skin so they can tangle together with nothing between them, and Stephen holds Tony until his breathing goes slow and steady, fingers stroking hair and skin in their cocoon.

It takes a while before Stephen can follow Tony into sleep.

* * *

They wake up, brew coffee, and talk for hours.

At first, Tony’s clearly trying to pretend that his emotional breakdown didn’t happen, putting on the usual mask that he uses to seem unaffected by everything when he’s vulnerable, but Stephen calmly tells him to stop, not wanting any barriers for this conversation. Slowly, Tony allows himself to share that soft underbelly with Stephen, obviously not comfortable with showing vulnerability but trying his hardest to not clam up, and that’s unbelievably comforting.

They talk about why Tony had been gone for so long, and Stephen feels like he’s been punched in the throat at the news. Tony’d disclosed that James Rhodes – who Stephen is still waiting to meet as the man’s deployed to ‘an undisclosed location in Southwest Asia’ – had gotten wind of SI’s weapons being used by terrorists and dictatorial regimes around the world and Tony had dug into it, his vision tunnelling until he’d followed the money all the way to Stane. Now he and Pepper have to find a way to compile the information, make it airtight, find any co-conspirators, and then arrest all of them, which is a monumental undertaking for someone as powerful and entrenched in SI operations as Stane is, not to mention that Tony’s predictably shattered at the news. Stephen had never got on with Stane the few times they’ve been around each other, not because Stane wasn’t a charming sort of man with a gruff exterior (which he was) but because he’d been uncomfortable by how Stane _looked_ at Tony like a piece of meat and talked to him so smoothly that made Stephen bristle all over for some reason. He hadn’t really understood the instinctive dislike at the time because Stane had treated Tony like he was family, easy and practised, but in the wake of Tony’s confession, he has the realisation that some people are just _bad_ , subtly manipulative and pure evil, and Stephen had subconsciously picked up on it even though he hadn’t realised what was bothering him about Stane in the first place.

There’s nothing Stephen can do about help with this, the whole thing way outside of his paygrade and an SI problem, but he can sure as hell rant and threaten to dismember Stane and it _is_ his job to try and talk Tony off the ledge. He is _furious_ that Tony’s internalising the issue, as if every CEO in the history of business micromanaged every single aspect of financials and deliveries, including the ones that were deliberately hidden so deep in the books that they almost didn’t even exist, which is simply insane – even if Tony had been flawlessly monitoring his company’s every move, Stane clearly had done everything in his own considerable power to hide the shady deals and illicit money and besides, SI is so fucking massive that it is quite frankly _impossible_ to be privy to every single minuscule aspect of the company. There was literally nothing that Tony could’ve done to stop this from happening, and Tony admits after some prodding that the logs of shady deals had stretched back to his father’s days as CEO as well.

He knows _that_ will take time to sink in even slightly, and he figures that Pepper will help to try and keep Tony from falling apart from this betrayal too.

Eventually they move onto the other topic, and do eventually come to a compromise. He’s fully aware that Tony genuinely _enjoys_ giving things to the people he cares about, that it’s his type of love language based off ingrained expectations since the first time his father bought him something to apologise for missing a birthday as well the fact that Tony can afford to spoil the people he loves, but there have to be lines drawn. Stephen loves gifts, just as much as he likes giving them himself (there _is_ something deeply satisfying about being able to afford it, after growing up dirt poor and clawing his way to affluence, so he does genuinely get the thrill), but he can’t handle big purchases like that and does want to keep his own finances stable. With the lack of crushing debt, he can now afford to splurge even more regularly, which means that he can start throwing money at other things instead of interest payments and feel like less of a free loader.

Still, they come to an agreement: nothing over a grand on either side, and anything that is going to be more expensive than that is grounds for a talk. Stephen wants to contribute to holidays and mutual expenses despite the fact that Tony’s a billionaire, and he’s dead-set on having financial independence for his own peace of mind. He wants this relationship to work and truly thinks that it can, but he needs failsafes because he doesn’t want to become dependent on Tony’s massive fortune in the horrible event that they break up. That’s fairly easy now that he’s not paying off high-interest bills, and even though his credit score does dip because of the abrupt and premature closeout of his debts, he has the money to drop on large down payments. Looks like he’s buying himself a car and possibly even real estate after all, the latter a considerable investment in Manhattan’s economy, and he wonders what it would cost to buy out his own penthouse from the owners. He’s rather fond of it, and it would be nice to own the property rather than fork out more than twenty grand a month for rent.

Then they have the conversation about communication, and come to a compromise on that as well: anything over three days of separation is grounds for a phone call or a text, and semi-regular contact with those methods every few days if the separation stretches longer is non-negotiable, even if it’s something as simple as a _hello_ or _busy see you later_. Tony even sets up a reminder alert with JARVIS to show that he’s committed to meeting Stephen in the middle on that, because it’s not like it’s a secret that Tony can forget things when he’s neck-deep in R&D, and with the insanity of Stane’s betrayal, it’s very likely that Tony’s going to be in and out of the Tower for the foreseeable future, in court or trying to work with the inevitable drop in stock market confidence when the press gets wind. Stephen does emphasise that he’d like to hear from Tony every day, just to ‘hear’ his voice and feel that connection, especially right _now_ with everything going on at SI, but it isn’t necessary and all he needs is proof of life every few days at the very least.

And finally they talk about communication overall.

Neither one of them are prone to oversharing and they both have issues with showing their soft spots, but it’s something they need to work on, if only so a blowout like this one doesn’t happen again. He knows it’ll be difficult for both of them, wary with showing vulnerability and naturally inclined to internalise their own hurts, but it’s important that they try to make an effort to share those things with each other. Tony is obviously nervous about the idea but so is Stephen, and they do make the agreement to make an effort at not letting things pile up, being open about things that are bothering them without having to be afraid of any consequences. There’s nothing wrong with not being one hundred percent satisfied all the time after all, and they are allowed to have bad days; hell, it’s _healthy_ to have days where they argue and complain and are irritated with life or each other, because there’s no such thing as a perfect relationship and it’s too much pressure on both of them to try and force that unattainable faultlessness. No one’s perfect, and having realistic expectations about curveballs that will unavoidably knock them off-kilter as well as the impossibility of human nature’s ability to be constantly positive is only a good thing.

Predictably, Tony’s not sold on that last bit. Stephen gets that too – it’s been a while, but he remembers always trying and trying and ultimately failing to be completely _perfect_ as to stave off his father’s anger, the same as his mother and siblings used to do every single day in that house, and it had been a wretched life. It had taken him _years_ before he’d been able to come to terms with the fact that interactions with other human beings weren’t meant to be perfect, that it wasn’t healthy to police his every action and word just to placate someone else over his own comfort in a desperate effort to keep himself physically and mentally safe (and sometimes he still has issues with it). Tony, on the other hand, has likely _never_ had the opportunity to come to that same realisation because of the simple fact that he’s always been surrounded by people that take advantage of him or just straight-up hurt him instead. He just doesn’t know any other way to live, and it will take time for him to understand that, just like everything else.

Nevertheless, Tony verbally says that he’ll try to come to terms with that – though he balks at Stephen’s mention of therapy, which Stephen is an advocate of, and Stephen decides to cut his losses on that one, shelving it to the side in the possible event that he’ll have to insist in the future should things go south – and they do agree to take each day as it comes. Tony’s mollified when Stephen says that even the smallest issue he has will be brought up, his nerves soothed by the fact that Stephen is going to make every effort to talk to Tony as soon as even the glimmer of something _not okay_ crosses his mind, though Stephen himself privately knows that that’s probably not going to happen. Even if he did make an attempt to do so, he’s entitled to his own privacy on occasion, and there are some things that Stephen will have problems with that will be solely his own issues rearing up, which he’ll deal with on his own or in therapy, at least at first. No use spinning Tony up about something that Stephen’s being illogical about when he has a therapist to work things out with, and he’ll only bring it up if Theresa says he should.

Once the serious talk is over, Tony asks with a considerable amount of trepidation, “We’re okay?”

“We’re okay,” Stephen confirms with a genuine smile, and then drags Tony back to the bedroom for a lazy day of brunch in bed, a cuddle, and a well-deserved nap, Tony wrapped up in his arms.

* * *

Tony proposes fifteen times over the course of eight years.

Naturally, Stephen says no every time – it’s mostly because same-sex marriage isn’t legal and he refuses to cheapen their relationship with something that doesn’t carry any legal weight (because they deserve the same respect as heterosexual couples for fuck’s sake), but it’s also because he needs time. He’s never even been engaged before, and the idea of being married itself is a bizarre one after living his entire life in short relationships that didn’t pan out, plus he thinks that it’s a good thing that they’re not jumping into a legal forever as soon as they possibly can. Tony’s been engaged a fucking _psycho_ before and they’d jumped into that at the urging of Stane and the board at SI (because Tony’d been fucking his way through multiple countries for a few years after his parents’ death and it had disgusted their shareholders, the fucking prudes), so Stephen’s unwilling to rush into it because Tony needs time too, even if he adamantly says he doesn’t. With Pepper as CEO now, Tony gleefully accepting the ‘demotion’ to CTO, there’s not as much pressure to conform to normative stereotypes, even if they could only have a domestic partnership rather than a genuine marriage according to law, so that’s a positive. Besides, it’s not a bad thing to have a long relationship before jumping into marriage – if anything, it just makes him more positive that Tony is _it_ for him the longer they make it work, their relationship growing stronger with each hurdle they successfully pass.

Eventually though, once they hit three years, he doesn’t give a shit about the latter. The only thing that keeps him from accepting Tony’s subsequent offers once same-sex marriage is legalised in New York State is because he doesn’t want to get married in one state just to have that marriage disregarded if they were to visit or move to another state, how unlikely it is that they will move. He wants their (hopefully inevitable) marriage to be universally accepted and respected no matter where they go, including Nebraska when they travel there to meet up with Victor, and he refuses to budge on that.

So, naturally, Tony takes that as a personal challenge and gets _invested_.

Surprisingly, Tony is not a fan of Barack Obama _at all_ , even though he begrudgingly endorses and votes for him in 2008 _and_ 2012\. He doesn’t like the fact that Obama’s practically a centrist Democrat (unsurprising, since Tony’s an unapologetic progressive and doesn’t like either political party), dislikes his stance on Wall Street (also unsurprising, since Tony is a vocal proponent of taxing the fuck out of the wealthy despite _being_ wealthy himself), hates Guantanamo Bay and military action in the Middle East (for a veritable mountain of reasons), and positively _despises_ that he’s not a supporter of same-sex marriage at first (for obvious reasons). Honestly, the only thing Tony seems to like about Obama is his pledge for universal healthcare, because everything else about the man’s political ideals seems to irritate Tony half to death because they’re _not fucking enough_.

Still, he throws every bit of his weight and money to help get Obama elected and then re-elected despite his dislike solely for the federal Supreme Court slots, knowing that Democrats need all the open seats they can get for the looming ruling on same-sex marriage. It’s inevitable really, since states are starting to push for it and it’s impossible that it won’t be brought up at the federal level, and Tony might dislike Obama’s centrist behaviour but he’s a pragmatist to a fault. Without a Democrat as president, it’s highly likely that, once the Supreme Court finally has to rule on equal marriage, the federal determination will be against, and Tony adamantly refuses to allow that to happen.

He also throws his weight around at the state level, not just in New York but in every state. He all but funds the movement to legalise same-sex marriage in New York and practically has a fucking coronary at when Prop 8 passes in California, nearly pulling out all SI business in that state completely in protest even though Pepper, Rhodey, and Stephen all remind him of the lives he’d be destroying if he took away those jobs. He pays for legal representation by starting a charity organisation that’s available to all individuals in the LGBTQ+ community, starts a relentless PR campaign advocating tolerance and acceptance, and actually meets with the newly-elected President directly, ostensibly to tear him a new arsehole in private.

He’s somewhat pacified when he learns that Obama’s not anti-queer in the slightest and genuinely does believe in the right of equal marriage, and that the only reason he doesn’t address it publicly is because of political viability with centrist and Republican voters regarding re-election prospects. Tony doesn’t like the subterfuge or the white lying, but again, he’s a pragmatist – all first-term presidents spend said first term trying to get re-elected rather than actually charging in like an untactful and stubborn bull to change the system, which means trying to appease all sides of the aisle (though mostly the base that gets them elected in the first place) until they _do_ get re-elected and _can_ start making those sweeping changes, since they don’t have anything to lose at that point.

When _Obergefell v. Hodges_ is approved for review, it’s positively apocalyptic. Stark Industries is immediately brought into the mix in the _amicus_ brief for the businesses advocating for same-sex marriage, naturally, which comes with its own insanity for SI’s legal branch, but Tony practically loses his ability to work for five months and Pepper doesn’t even give a shit about it, simply throwing him at the PR reps and essentially telling Tony to go wild. Stephen doesn’t have that option, but once the case formally opens in April, everyone from his assistants in theatre and patients in recovery are talking about it. It’s obviously not a secret that Stephen has a vested interest in seeing same-sex marriage passed, since he’s in a same-sex relationship with _literally the richest man in the country_ (though the staff is pretty much immune to Tony’s glamour now, considering how often he invades the hospital for social visits), and a good third of Metro-General’s staff is LGBTQ+, so unsurprisingly it’s all anyone’s talking about.

Stephen all but sells his soul to the hospital board to get 26 June off, and he’s pretty sure Christine actually _does_.

They fly to D.C. with Christine and meet up with Pepper and Happy, who’d flown in from California the night before, as well as Rhodey, who’s currently stationed at the Pentagon and therefore already local. Tony’s an absolute _menace_ with the massive congregation of people in front of the Supreme Court building and Christine only enables him – he’d used his own personal funds to pretty much make it into a Pride festival and works his way through the entire crowd until he’s positively covered in glitter and rainbow memorabilia, and he throws money at pretty much anyone with a booth until everyone _else_ is covered too. Stephen’s never been to a Pride parade or festival before so it’s entertaining to be a part of the spectacle, and he’s equally decked out in all sorts of things despite the heat. The only person immune to Tony’s rainbow-and-glitter makeovers is Pepper, mostly because she’d threatened to stab Tony to death with the heels she has waiting in the car in preparation for the press conference she’s giving after the announcement; that being said, she still acquiesces to a rainbow flag pin she puts on her lapel of her smart suit and gets glitter everywhere, courtesy of Tony’s hugs and the press of bodies around them, so even though she’ll be changing yet again before the press conference, she’ll probably still have it in her hair and on her skin when she gives SI’s statement.

It’s nerve-wracking when the signal is given that the verdict is about to be officiated, the entire crowd going utterly silent except nervous murmurs between friends and couples, not to mention whispered prayers. Pepper is murmuring lowly about how legalization is the unanimous expectation as if she’s trying to convince herself and Tony’s cursing under his breath that he hadn’t been able to get a spy on the inside, his hand clenching Stephen’s so hard it would hurt if Stephen wasn’t so fucking comforted by it. It seems like they wait forever, right the front at the barricade with their friends and makeshift family beside them in equal tenseness, but then a few suited people come running out the doors, waving papers and grinning like loons as they give the thumbs up, and the entirety of the crowd explodes like a nuclear bomb going off.

It’s nothing but screaming and cheering and singing and crying, and Stephen doesn’t even know how to react at first, blank-faced as Tony loses his absolute shit. He’d always wanted to eventually get married, and he supposes he’d just warily acclimated to the reality that if he wanted to get married, it would have to be with a woman, and then when he’d gotten with Tony and if he was very lucky, same-sex legalisation would happen when they were old and retired and they’d have to settle for getting married right before they croaked.

But no. He could marry Tony _tomorrow_ if they were to file today, and they could go anywhere in the country and still have legal rights, and holy shit, holy fucking _shit_.

He’s being hugged and smothered by all their friends and family and strangers nearby and Tony is in his arms, grinning like mad and cheering with the cacophony around them and he’s so fucking _beautiful_ in the late morning sunshine that all Stephen can say is “Marry me.”

Tony goes still against him, eyes big and starting to shine with tears, and complains in a choked voice, “You’re such a _bastard_.”

“Marry me,” he says again, his insides all liquid because he already knows the answer, he just needs to hear Tony say it, out loud and for anyone to hear.

And Tony breathes out, “ _Yes_.”


End file.
